


20 Questions

by stickysugar



Category: Justified
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickysugar/pseuds/stickysugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in this damn county reeked of blood and Boyd, with a distinct hint of gunpowder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	20 Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Story takes place in an AU where Raylan killed Boyd in the series finale and his life kinda fittingly went to shit.

Another swig, one more deep pull of the dark bourbon, and Raylan officially lost track of how much he had drank; long since forgotten how much liquid was left in the bottle when he started. It was close to empty, now. He felt raw, like something had chewed up his insides and spat them back out. The imagery made him grimace. He had drank too much. Somewhat reluctantly, he placed the bottle down, watching the liquid swirl in the confines of the glass, beating against invisible walls it could never hope to escape. Despite the bourbon's warmth, Raylan felt cold. 

He supposed it was about time for him to finally vacate the folding chair he had set up outside his room, and head in to flop down onto the worn mattress. Raylan knew he would sleep unmoving, dead to the world, which would be a relief. Whenever he started to ponder making a move towards the real thing, he just drank more, until he was sure he couldn’t even hold a gun to his head straight. Nights like this had become far too frequent now. Nights where Raylan struggled to think of nothing, and only thought and felt deeper than he ever had before. 

Raylan was just starting to talk himself into standing when the rumbling of a car's engine broke the silence of the night. The quiet roar of an old pick-up truck pulling into the lot, idling in a nearby parking spot, was not unfamiliar, at this point. 

"Get on in, boy!" Boyd Crowder leaned his head out the window, slapping the outside of the truck for emphasis. It took a bit for Raylan to remain seated, to not jump up and take his place in the passenger seat as they headed for the mine. 

Boyd stepped out of the pick-up and made his way to the empty chair next to Raylan's, dropping down next to him. "Well, Raylan, I wish I could say I was surprised to see you up at this time," Boyd began, folding one leg over the other. 

Raylan shifted in his seat to better regard Boyd. This wasn't the first time he'd seen him since killing him, but that didn't make it any easier. The marshal's gaze fell to the bright red blossom staining the front of Boyd's shirt. Third time's the charm, Raylan thought, but didn't say. 

"It ain't late," Raylan finally replied, his throat tight. 

Boyd reached down to retrieve his pocket watch, making a show of it. "Halfway to 1 AM," he noted, "And you're three quarters to shit-faced by the look of things." 

Raylan didn't argue. "Was there something that you need, Boyd?" He asked, trying to instill a cool edge to his voice that sounded a little more like himself. 

"If you would describe wanting to check up on a dear old friend as a need--" 

"Boyd." Raylan rose a hand to his forehead, an ache already brewing. 

"Would you rather I leave?" Boyd asked, trying to look put upon. "As a matter of fact, don't answer that," he continued, producing a glass jar from what looked like thin air. Or maybe it had always been there, resting between the man's thighs. Raylan hadn't dared look. 

Boyd unscrewed the top to the jar and took a long sip of moonshine, exhaling deeply afterwards. "I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall," he muttered, ire creeping its way into his voice. "I'd never dare to describe you as particularly verbose, Raylan, but you’ve been downright laconic these past few nights!" Boyd swung the jar of moonshine as he spoke, the liquid inside dangerously close to spilling out. “Don’t you have any cool threats to sling my way? Or do you find that pointless now, considering--”

"I'm tired, Boyd," Raylan cut in, closing his eyes and allowing his head to lull back against the brick of the motel. 

"Well, if you've found you've nothing worthwhile to say, allow me to pose a question." Boyd raised both hands in a wide gesture, smiling faintly. "Does this bring you back?" His face took on a more serious expression. "Does anything?" 

More like everything, Raylan thought; everything in this damn county reeked of blood and Boyd, with a distinct hint of gunpowder. It would have been so much easier to leave, to soak in the sun of Miami and the love of his daughter. But Raylan wasn't looking for an easy way out anymore. 

“Boyd,” Raylan began, opening his eyes. His voice was softer than he wanted it to be. He half wanted to tell the other man to stop showing up, but couldn’t force the words out.

“Can I ask you something else?” Boyd continued, a giddy look in his eyes. Raylan said nothing, unsettled.

“Why do you think it is that the two people I cared for most in this world both sought to kill me?”

Something in Raylan churned painfully; an old wound torn back open. “Why do you think it is that ‘the two people you cared for most,’ couldn’t trust you as far as they could throw you?” Raylan hissed back, his hand clamped down tight on his lower abdomen. That old gunshot wound never hurt again after it healed, Raylan marveled. But everything hurt around Boyd.

For a moment, the other man looked taken aback, but the cool mask of levity returned quickly. “I don’t suppose I ever was a good judge of character,” he said quietly.

Raylan snorted. “You tryin’ to say Ava and I ain’t good people?”

“You tryin’ to say you are?” Boyd leaned in close. “I’m sorry, Raylan,” he said suddenly. “I shouldn’t speak to you like that.” 

Raylan shifted in his seat, trying to put more distance between the two. “I don’t care what you say to me.” 

“As long as I say something?”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “It’s too late for a game of goddamn twenty questions,” he pointed out. “Did you just show up to harass me? Is that your duty in death as it was in life?”

Boyd turned his gaze to the jar in his hands. “There’s just so much I still think about, Raylan. Even now. You’d think I’d be used to it. Don’t you think about it? Replay the moment I hit the ground over and over in your mind?”

Raylan did everything he could not to picture it, but the images filled his brain regardless. A gunshot. Screaming. Blood. There was a lot of blood. “The alcohol helps,” Raylan said, nudging the nearly empty bottle with his boot. He hit it a little too hard, tipping the bottle over and the last of the bourbon out onto the asphalt.

“Is that right,” Boyd said dryly, watching the liquid puddle. “Tell you what,” he said, turning back to Raylan. “I’ll ask you one more thing before I go. This is the thing that’s been botherin’ me the most, if I’m honest.”

Raylan shook his head, knowing he had no choice in the matter.

“It’s actually a two part question,” Boyd prefaced, much to Raylan’s exasperation. “That day you came back to Harlan; after I threatened you, tried to run you out of town. What did you tell me?”

"What did I tell you?" Raylan repeated, even though he remembered the words clear as day. "'You make me pull, I'll put you down,'" he quoted. The phrase sounded like it was from another era; another person entirely. 

“That’s the Raylan Givens I know,” Boyd agreed, looking satisfied. “One of them, anyway.” He was quiet for a moment as he took another sip of moonshine. "Tell me, friend, why do you think it is that on the day you did finally fatally pull, I don't remember pulling first?"

Raylan went stiff in his chair, wishing for the umpteenth time that night that Boyd had never come around. 

"I’ll admit, the day I shuffled off this mortal coil is very hazy." Boyd stared off into the parking lot, his expression blank. "But you would think that one’s final moments on this Earth would be burnt indelibly into one's consciousness--" Boyd stopped then, barking out a laugh as he regarded the other man. Boyd's smile took on a cruel edge. "Guilt looks mighty good on you, Marshal." 

"I ain't guilty," Raylan argued. 

"I'm sure you've heard those words more times than you could count." Boyd raised the jar to his lips once more. "I'd always hoped that you would never do anything you couldn't live with, Raylan," he said quietly. 

"I'm alive, aren't I?" Raylan made to stand, unsteady on shaky legs. 

"Well, that makes one of us."

**Author's Note:**

> SO. That was my first Justified fic and it was a lot of fun to write! I have to note that after I wrote it, I was reading other fics on this site and discovered, 'Where do you go?' a Justified fic by norgbelulah that's really similar to this one! It's awkward bc I wrote mine before reading theirs but there's still some creepy similarities lol. I guess shit happens. I figured I'd mention it here bc I feel kinda weird about it and I don't wanna be accused of anything. Their fic is really good, (prolly better than mine lol), and you should check it out!


End file.
